


Rage Is A Quiet Thing (You Think That You've Tamed It)

by PT_Princess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Altered Carbon Fusion, Body Dysphoria, But in the sense of getting a new sleeve, Class Differences, Class Issues, F/M, I've been watching Altered Carbon s2, Pining, Soulmates, Suggestive Themes, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PT_Princess/pseuds/PT_Princess
Summary: Bellamy knows he's lucky, every time he gets spun back up. He honestly thinks it's someone's bad idea of a joke - it's obvious he doesn't have the money for new sleeves.But he's always taken what he's been given, holds it so tightly even the Protectorate would have a hard time ripping it away.---It's been a long time since he got to see Clarke.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	Rage Is A Quiet Thing (You Think That You've Tamed It)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching Altered Carbon, and it's such a cool premise - so of course I had to make a fusion. 
> 
> Title is taken from Hayley William's 'Simmer.'

Bellamy doesn’t think that he’ll ever get used to waking up in a new sleeve, even if it’s the same body, every time. 

“It’ll fit like a glove when you get used to it,” the technician soothes, guiding him to the showers. The water is cool, refreshing, and it’s a little fucked, how a small part of him is hoping that that one day his luck runs out. 

He’s just tired, that’s all. Even though this sleeve is new, with no aches, no scars, it’s an expensive one, and Bellamy can’t figure out who’s paying for it. And it’s the same one, each time – tanned skin, dark hair, the scar on the upper lip. 

He’s heard the stories of people with limitless bank accounts, the weird shit they get into after centuries. That one about the guy inside the snake was enough to make him pick Octavia up from work even though Lincoln was already there, offering a tense wave.

It’s Harlan’s World he wakes up on this time.

When he finds his sister, she’s either in the same sleeve or a new one, looking up at him with excitement after she lets him go. “Bell, Lincoln’s family has an apartment here we can stay in. You don’t have to find work right away, come on-“

Bellamy doesn’t know how to explain that work is all he feels he has, sometimes, giving his brain something to think about other than the deep fear he’ll never see Clarke again – it chokes him late at night sometimes, when he’s alone in his bed and the universe feels too big, too fast. The next time he gets spun up, Octavia might be planets away, in a different body, and Bellamy’s afraid he could walk right by her, his own sister, and not know it.

He’s worried he’s already done that to Clarke. It’s been years since he thinks he saw her last, but the doubt gnaws at his chest like something alive. That’s the fucking problem with sleeves, with unlimited money; with the right resources, you could put your stack into any sleeve, at any point.

\--

Raven punches him in the shoulder the next day, grinning in the way she does – Bellamy is big enough to admit he’s never been able to decide whether she scares him or not. “Good to see you, Big Blake. Where’d you show up this time?”

“Here,” he shrugs, and her eyebrows raise. 

“Someone’s got a backer with money – you didn’t strike a deal with Murphy, did you?”

Bellamy snorts. He’s been desperate, but he’s not stupid. “How’s business?”

“It’s busy,” she smirks. “But I’ve got something better than ship mechanics for you – it showed up on the array this morning.” Raven waves her hand, and the screens fly up off the table, hovering. 

Bellamy feels his fingers go numb, even as Octavia touches his shoulder.

She’s in the same sleeve as last time, eyes just as determined as they stare out from the screen. It’s been years, the exact number lost to deaths and getting spun up. But it’s her, and the air sticks in his throat. 

Or at least, he hopes it’s her. Sleeve-theft isn’t common, but it’s out there, and something crawls on his skin at the thought of a stranger as Clarke. It’s been so long.

“Where is she-“ Can he still call her his girl, after all this? It feels stupid and a little desperate to wonder if her voice still sounds the same, if her fingers would touch his the same way. If she’d still taste the same.

“Bellamy,” Octavia says, eyes sympathetic. It’s easier for her, against all odds. She’s never had a problem finding Lincoln, wherever she is.

“What, O?” 

“How do you it’s her?”

“It’s gotta be.”

Raven gives him the address, and it’s not far from her shop, which Bellamy is thankful for. He’s not sure he could handle a long trek only to find it’s someone else.   
The security guards stop him at the door. 

No, he doesn’t have an appointment with the governor. 

No, he doesn’t have an access code.

Their expressions shutter more and more and hot shame fills his chest, the old feeling coming back like it never left. It’s not something Bellamy ever let himself resent Clarke for, the difference between their backgrounds, but sometimes it feels like someone’s twisting splinters in his lungs.

\--

The alcohol at the bar is basically free, burning his throat with each shot he takes. He’s morose, sullen, and knows it’s not a good look, but sometimes he’s so fucking jealous of the soulmates who manage to find each other each time that the glass in his hand shatters when he puts it down on the bar. “Fuck.” 

“Bad day?” All the service AI’s have the same lines, the glass spread across the bar gone before he can blink. 

There’s a stinging in his hand, a shard stuck in the thick pad of his thumb. The pain sucks but it clears things a little, and Bellamy feels a little less unstable when he gets up, finger cleaned and bandaged. 

It’s probably a bad idea, but the array blinks into view before he can think twice about it. “Clarke,” he says, her name coming out of his mouth for the first time in ages. 

His phone rings, and he snaps out a “What?” It’s late, and Octavia doesn’t call him when she’s safe at Lincoln’s.

“Bellamy?” Someone says, and he’s too drunk for this, squinting at the screen. 

“Who’s this?”

“I – it’s me, Bellamy. It’s-“

“Clarke?” He has to hold onto the wall. “Clarke-“

“Bellamy,” she says, and she sounds the same, steady and sure of him. “You’re here?”

“On Harlan’s? Yeah – uh, yeah, I tried to see you.”

She snorts, confusing him. “You didn’t try to go the governor’s residence, did you?”

“I thought that’s where we always agreed to find each other.” A memory swims up, promises in the half-light of her old room. 

Clarke gives him a different address, and it’s not far, but why would she be there-

The air sobers him up on the walk over, and he’s got enough credits to buy an alcohol neutralizer, clearing the rest of the haze from his brain just before the building comes into a view, a real brick walk-up from the original settlement. It’s a little run down, but it’s so Clarke it makes him smile. All the times they’ve met over the years, she’s liked older, pretty things, thigh touching his as she’d watched the people go by, sharing coffee and glass noodles.

His mouth goes dry when he knocks on the door. It sounded like her, but maybe someone’s playing a shitty trick.

The door opens and Bellamy gets the impression of blue eyes and blond hair before someone slams into him, arms wrapping around his neck. “What’s the last thing you gave me?”

He has to close his eyes. “Everything I had.”

Clarke pulls back. “May we meet again, right?”

“Hey, princess.”

“Bellamy,” she tugs him inside, fingers familiar on his. “I have so much to tell you.”


End file.
